1st Corinthians 13
by Mongoosey
Summary: In the end I wanna be standing at the beginning...with you. (Life is a Road featured on the 20th Century Fox Anastasia movie). An experimental way to look at things. Every beginning has an end, and yet, every end rewinds and becomes a beginning.


Title: 1st Corinthians 13

Author Name and Email: SurfNaked (or other alias: Mongoosey) and surfn_ked@hotmail.com 

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Disclaimer: These characters are not in anyway my property. They belong and are copyrighted to JK Rowling. The verses that are written in italics belong to 1st Corinthians 13 and translated from one version of the Holy Bible. The last part of the story is not written by me, but by JK Rowling and is copied word for word on pages 76-77 of the American version of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. Numbers in parentheses are explained in a "Notes" section at the bottom and also do not belong to me.

This story implies homosexual relationship, and any criticism regarding this will be rightly ignored. You have been forewarned.

Rating: PG-13

Summary: _In the end I wanna be standing at the beginning...with you. _(Life is a Road featured on the 20th Century Fox Anastasia movie). An experimental way to look at things. Every beginning has an end, and yet, every end rewinds and becomes a beginning. A favorite Bible verse, often recited at weddings, is put to the test.

Category: Drama/Romance

1st Corinthians 13

Love is patient

Sugar black clouds spun menacing across the darkening sky. Some speckles of rain dotted the near-by headstones; the dots shone ash gray on the silver. Soles of shoes kicked through rotting divots, unearthing new soil as every prayer solidified into tears. Everything reeked of quiet resignation.

To turn back the future would be divine, they thought, bodies swaying lethargically. However, wishing never brought people back to life.

The piece of crumbled paper lay lonely on the wet earth. A message wrote there, messy, like the handwriting of some redhead. An expensive knee reached the ground. His trembling fingers waltzed clumsily with the paper.

It read: _I'm not God._

He almost broke again.

Shaking, his eyes searched the crowd, landing on one most obvious victim. The one furthest from the paper. The one who had been clutching his heart and staring at his balled fist. Before he could act, a hand gently gestured for the paper. He stared at her and didn't know how he looked, eyes swollen from a crying heart. It almost didn't matter, though. She couldn't look directly at him.

"It's his epitaph." She stated simply. "We were joking. With him."

She paused and closed her eyes, almost melodramatically. "He chose it. While we were laughing, he chose it."

The man nodded. He kept staring at the girl, her eyes shut, and slowly brought the paper to his lips. She moved uncomfortably, a bit. He knew that her eyes were closed, only enough to hold back the tears, but curious enough to see his actions. From the corner of his eye, he saw the redhead retreat, hands covering his freckle stained face. He turned to the girl, stonily motioned his exit and gestured to the grave.

There was no nice parting, no polite good-bye.

It was only "I love him. I came." And then, a wordless good-bye. She nodded, the slight lump in her throat cautiously tightening a knot, and forced a semi smile.

"You do. So you did."

Deafening his ears to her last comment, he wandered toward the headstone, warily aware of his reluctance. He sensed the people around him, yet wondered how many would actually feel the way he does. He fell, the earth rain snaking through the sticky Dolce and Gabbana of his suit. Again, in bold, the words: 

****

Harry James Potter

I'm Not God

And in hastily scribbled Sharpie:

****

He Loved Us All

And in hastily scribbled shining letters:

****

He Saved Us All

Draco Malfoy kissed the headstone, with love running down his face, his expensive suit ruined in mud and during drizzle on a Thursday.

He traced the letters with his long finger.

"No, love." He breathed, his heart breaking for the fourteenth time that day. "You were a bit like Jesus."

__

Love is kind

"I beat you again!"

It was the fourth time in a row he had beaten Harry, and almost assuredly, made him the winner. He smirked, condescending, yet divine. He furrowed his brow when he noticed Harry's quiet disposition. Too bad the war outside kept raging inside Harry's mind. 

Harry bit his lip, muddling over his thoughts.

The war drove Cornelius Fudge, Cho Chang, and Argus Filch insane. Sometimes, insanity seemed more welcoming than forced bravery.

"Love. I'm scared." His moss green eyes cracked over in worry and determination. Draco suddenly threw him a similar glance while Harry shuddered and stared into the consoling fire. He saw the crackle and the tangerine POP and the nice tango the flames made, all blue and orange and yellow. Sometimes, he thought he saw green, but then wondered if that was only his imagination.

Draco chewed the inside of his mouth, the heavy weight of the war burning into his skin. He stared down at the chess game, the black and white blurring under the intensity of his gaze. The squares patterned black and white, and even when he blinked, all he saw was black and white.

Quaking, he glanced away from the chess pieces and onto a moving picture. Colored.

The warm sunlight shifted throughout the picture, and the familiar reminder of sand and salt shimmered in Draco's mind. Two figures absently waved to the camera, one mouthing something similar to "January twelfth!" He inwardly swelled, remembering. 

There's always other colors.

Harry's feet shuffled absently on the carpet, the palm of his hand feeling the lukewarm of his hot cocoa. Reminding himself of his warm environment always comforted him, and he, for the first time in minutes, felt the forever presence of friend. Before he turned his head, he sensed movement in the corner of his eye. The crackle marshmallow of Draco's lips collided deliberately with his cheek and then, in that one second, everything was fine again.

Draco smiled supportingly into Harry's cheek.

"I still beat you, wanker."

__

Love is not envious or boastful

Harry sneered with little success. "Prat! You always strike a man when he's down?"

Draco chuckled, his warm breath rippling like a wave on a sandbar. "Always and always."

The blond felt himself suddenly careening backward as the force of Harry's body shoved into him. Having been caught completely off guard, he snapped his head forward, stopping right before his attacker's nose. As sudden as it had happened, Draco whipped from under Harry and clenched a fist while kneeling on the ground in a defensive position. He growled and a challenging "Malfoy" look emitted from his face. He felt the tingling rush of cocky satisfaction, something he hadn't witnessed in years.

"Scared, Potter?"

The all too familiar words left his mouth before his body and mind started comprehending the situation. Smiling the biggest smile Draco had seen all day, Harry answered enthusiastically with a tiny, unnecessary spark of hope in his face.

"You wish."

Harry mouthed a greeting while opening the door. He hadn't seen Draco all day, and was very worried. He'd finally gotten the word that Draco had done nothing but lock himself in his room all day and scream obscenities at random house elves. Narcissa had been the one to tell him. She murmured, with dark circles engraved under her eyes, "His father's very upset." Harry nodded, unable to look at her directly. Draco's parents only tolerated him as their son's infatuation, but today Harry could feel her voice hint at a more decent relationship.

Draco's room was littered with books, a bit of glass, and some other valuable items that only Draco had the heart (or lack of it) to throw. He searched the extremely vast room when he came upon none other than the striking Prince of Darkness himself. Draco casually leaned against the wall, a smug look overcoming his red eyes and more so, flaming blush.

"I hate my fucking dad."

Harry chuckled a bit, eyes searching the collected boy. Only Draco could be that spoiled. Still, he reasoned. Old habits die hard.

"Draco, you do realize we are missing the wedding of my close, always-have-been-there-for-me friends? Maybe if you weren't being such a spoiled little girl we'd already have been there by now."

Draco peered at him with anger. It certainly didn't seem that petty to him.

"SPOILED? GIRL? Potter, I'll have you know that the Malfoy fortune is dependent on my being a heir and my being alone! A Malfoy heir, among most other things, is an extremely good-looking, cunning, vastly intelligent Slytherin. Further more..."

Harry rolled his eyes as Draco droned on with his speech. Mister Malfoy, he thought sarcastically. Labeled "The Queer One".

__

Or arrogant or rude

"Don't you roll your eyes at me, Scar-face! My argument is perfectly justifiable!" Draco yelled, his voice rattling off the walls. The sarcasm in Harry's voice annoyed him.

"Give it a rest, Draco. He's dead! What do you expect? He can do whatever the hell he wants!" Harry pleaded, his mouth twitching impatiently. Secretly though, Harry felt a bit relieved at that statement. Lucius had been dead for a while and thankfully, came back as a rather tolerable ghost. One really didn't mind Voldemort when one was already dead.

Draco stared Harry down with stubbornness.

"I am. not. going. to. Weasel's. wedding. Not after that insufferable GIT called me a whipped, sheltered, puppy dog!"

__

It does not insist on its own way

Harry shook his head, frowning. "But love, Granger's going to be there! And you and Hermie get along well enough!" Again, he pleaded, this time adding a resonant sound in his voice. Draco, again, refused to budge.

"Well, do you know what? FINE! Stay here and bloody mope! I don't give a fuck one way or another!" With that, Harry stormed out of the room and, from the looks of it, apparated to the wedding.

A while later, when Draco first started feeling a bit regretful, he absentmindedly bumped into a circular, mahogany table which sat contentedly by the fireplace. Gods, he felt absolutely terrible about not being at the wedding, since he'd already promised Hermione and Ginny to attend. And yet, he couldn't face them right now, considering the fact his own stubbornness wouldn't let him. He growled in distaste at the table. What idiot would be so stupid enough to place a table next to the fireplace?

His face contorted into a sneer. Probably Harry. He thought, scattering yet other papers to the floor. Then, he noticed that some papers were cut out from the Daily Prophet or some other news source. Cautiously, he bent down and examined them. The sneer on his face disapperated as a faint smile caressed his beautifully pleased face.

The note read:

__

Drae, love. You are the worst prick I know. Here's something to think about while you mope about, too damn stubborn to come to the wedding. Ha-ha. You're a bitch but I love you anyway.(1) It would be real pleasant if you did come, though. Hint hint. Maybe you should reach up there and grab the broomstick out of your ass and just come down already. Dumb git.

He flipped the magically attached paper so that the second page overlapped the first. _This one?_, adorned the top of the second page, which held the pictures of a huge mansion overlooking a landscape of snow with the blinking letters of ALASKA: PRICE UPON REQUEST printed across the page. The second held a most striking sunset, the semi-darkness of the night shadowing an outline of a house and hammock. BARBADOS: PRICE UPON REQUEST donned the title of the page, quickly exchanging the words for writing: _Or this one?_

Trembling, he shoved the papers in his pocket and murmured a quick spell. He stepped boldly into the fireplace.

The first words he heard as he stepped into the light were "I knew you'd come." And he had.

__

It is not irritable or resentful

Drunk and disheveled, most Gryffindor students barely made it into their beds after a wild night of partying. Sounds of fucking and puking were heard echoing throughout the corridors of Hogwarts, much to the teachers' dismay (for a more obvious example, Severus Snape). Ever since Neville Longbottom was found hung-over at the bottom of stairs, the teachers had all agreed that ignorance was perfectly blissful enough. So it wasn't that much of a deal when the majority of the students didn't arrive at their respective dorms. 

It didn't really matter that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were missing from their four poster beds at least three times a week. Not that any Gryffindor had bothered to ask any Slytherin the whereabouts of Harry or vice versa.

If they had, they would find that somewhere in the vast spaces of Hogwarts, a door was shut closed by none other than one of the two occupants inside of a room.

Draco/Malfoy muses that if there had been some moonlight, it would've definitely played with Harry/Potter's features. He shrugged involuntarily, the coldness of the floor somewhat getting to him. Beside him, Harry stirred.

"All right, Malfoy?" He lifted an eyelid, exposing a sleepy but satiated eye. Malfoy regarded him with slight distaste.

"Do I look all right, Potter? I'm busy juggling karmic decisions in my mind at about three in the morning, when I should be up in my dorm having a goodnight's rest. Case closed, shut it and sleep." It could've been the dark, but Draco could sense Potter's lack of comfort. He felt warm breath on the corner of his mouth.

"Do you really hate your father that much? Do you really hate Hogwarts that much?" The insistence of his breath seemed erotic and wanton to Draco, but he tried to keep that to himself. Of course, the words finally registered in his brain and when it did, he didn't feel up to par with keeping his appearance.

"Harry, as much of a prick my father is..." He bit his lip, as if trying to punish himself for sounding weaker than he intended. The taste of blood on his tongue and Harry's breath made him think, "Fuck it."

"I can't hate my father. Even when I'm angry with him, I can't hate him. Even if I did... I can't not call him 'Dad.'" The sympathetic look Harry was giving him made him a bit uncomfortable. "Not that you would or could understand." He snapped. Harry, now, seemed to appear more hostile. He felt at ease again.

__

It does not rejoice in wrongdoing,

"You know what? You're right. I don't, okay? I've grown up without a mother, a father...I've grown up without a fucking proper family! I can't call anyone an exclusive name like 'Mum' or 'Dad' or even just 'Aunt' or 'Uncle'! And Sirius died, and everyone... I never got a fucking chance, just one chance to call him 'Uncle'! That's my damn problem! No one ever fucking _stays_!" 

Harry's face contained a mixture of emotions, from hurt to plain anger and a speck of regret located in the faint of his cheeks. The green of his eyes held tears unshed. He still felt he wasn't worthy enough to cry for them. His family, his broken fallen. Something else in his eyes received admiration from Draco: his straight determination and most of all, the strength he held. The same strength that holds up his muscular body to his clumsy callused hands to the beauty spots below his eye and the almost middle of his lip to the golden brown of his ankles.

__

But rejoices in truth

It was the same strength he had held everyday for the beginning and rest of his life; everything so deliciously _human._

Draco inwardly smiled sadly, a slight twitch of his lip adorning the moon's light of his face. Harry sighed, a strange depletion looming over his demeanor.

"I'm not Superman, you know." He searched Draco's apathetic skin. "A muggle hero." He added, his dark skin turning a shade of pink in the darkness.

"You wouldn't know, would you? I wouldn't. For some odd reason, sometimes I wish I was you."

Draco smirked, his overall cockiness overruling the drama of the conversation.

"_Everyone _wishes to be _me_, sweets. It's what I am."

Harry finally broke into a smile, the crinkle of his mouth slightly open. His dark, innocent laughter spread through the silence in bubbles. Laughter certainly was infectious. Both boys' laughter filled the room for more beautiful moments. They collapsed on the floor, the curve of Harry's palm cupping Draco's forearm. Their soft breaths sealed the moment.

__

Love bears all things

He leaned toward Draco's cheek, the beauty spot on his lips trembling with air. Draco breathed uneasily, wondering how Harry came so close. A pang of...well..._something_ hit his chest, and that something bubbled up with another something. He tried to remind himself that apathy was always the best policy.

It didn't work.

Unable to resist, Draco smiled affectionately at him, the feeling in his chest throbbing strangely. 

"So I'm staying."

"For how long?"

"Always and a day."

Harry kissed Draco's forehead with somber resplendence. (2)

"How about always and always, you selfish prat? Maybe a day isn't long enough."

Draco breathed in, contemplating. His stomach rose with each breath as he stared vacantly into the ocean of black.

__

Believes all things

He didn't speak for a while, so Harry felt he must have said something wrong. He rose a bit to get up, and almost-cold piano hands grasped at his wrist.

"Always and always, Harry James Potter. Always and always, you dumb git."

"Heard you've been hanging about with Malfoy, Harry." Harry watched as his friend curled his lips in distaste. He ran a rough hand through his onyx hair frustratingly.

"Ron, there is no way in hell that I'd spend time with Ferret-boy voluntarily. Dumbledore 'requested' for Malfoy to tutor me in potions, since my grade's been a bit...low." He sighed, furrowing his brow a bit before peering up through tired lashes. Ron shrugged sympathetically.

"Oh...I get it. Well, try your hardest, mate. There's no way Ferret-face will actually join-" Ron gulped, remembering Dumbledore's latest warning. _"Spies are everywhere."_ He had said. Ron had forgotten that they happened to be in the Great Hall.

Obviously Harry remembered, shooting Ron a look. "Hey, for some reason, Ferret-boy isn't all that bad. I mean, sometimes, we talk." He stopped short at Ron's horrified expression.

"Talk? Like discussing recent death-eater trysts? Discussing the five best ways to torture you, starting with...guillotine, maybe? Discussing ways to remove various body parts from Gryffindors? Honestly, Harry! Are we really that terrible of friends that you're forced to 'talk' to Malfoy?" Ron blundered on, constantly glancing at Harry in disbelief. 

__

Hopes all things

He started at Harry's sudden change in expression. A frank look of displeasure and annoyance traced his face. A nagging voice tugged at Ron's conscience, finally convincing him to stop the tirade. Ron rubbed his temple in defeat.

"Look, Harry. I don't mean to be rude or anything, but...Draco Malfoy seems a bit strange, once you figure that for every single bloody day for the past four years, he's been picking fights and insulting family! He tried to get Hagrid, bloody _Hagrid_, sacked from school!" Brown eyes and freckles pleadingly gazed at Harry, yet Harry refused eye contact. Ron bit his lip with uncertainty when he finally felt an eerie presence about him.

"And you, Ronald Weasley? You were like Saint Christopher when we first were acquainted." The low drawl of honey and venom slithered in Ron's ear as he stiffened, the realization dawning on him finally. 

Silence sung despairingly while the magic that floated above them moved gaily. Ron tilted his cinnamon head up and pretended to be amazed at the grinning pumpkins. The familiar blond had found his way to the seat next to Harry, and Ron's peripheral vision forced him to spot that unusual action.

__

Endures all things

Without looking down, Ron mumbled in a forcibly polite tone, which more or less, resembled acid than sugar. "Sitting next to Gryffindors, Malfoy? How decent of you." He finally glared down at the blond, who also seemed to be biting back. "I'm shaking in my shoes waiting for Crabbe and Goyle to join us! Let's all have a party! A _death-eater_ party!"

Draco growled threateningly at Ron before turning his attention to Harry.

"Nice, Potter. Your lovely friends always find a way to welcome me." Harry sarcastically smirked, his teeth showing in defense.

"Come to bother us, Malfoy? Or just only me? I, for one, agree with Ron. It's good to finally see you in decent company."

"I'm vastly amused. Witty remarks aside, I'd like to talk to you about your recent grades in Potions. However, it simply cannot be done with Weasel here breathing down my neck." He swatted a pale hand at Ron, who, for all the money in the world, could not be bought from the murderous looks he was shooting at Draco.

"How about Snape's room?" Draco inquired.

"How about not?"

"Slytherin dorms?"

"Are you insane."

"Probably."

Draco pondered a bit, mentally checking off places in his mind. For some reason, he felt a bit uncomfortable by Ron's presence.

"Library then. Dumbledore's Lap Dog needs not fear of horrendous Slytherins ready to add to his beautiful scar."

"Agreed. I don't expect Slytherins can read."

"Again, I am vastly entertained that your birth concussion allows for you to crack jokes."

"As I am enthralled everyday I see you that Hogwarts compassionately decides to keep you here, rather than St. Mungoes were one should dwell."

"Scar-faced prat."

"Git."

Ron unconsciously realized that something strange had happened to the both of them. Instead of fighting, they seemed to banter casually, much less vicious than they had before. Feverishly denying this, he regained his senses, which were basically: Hate Malfoy. Kill Malfoy. Mean Malfoy. Hungry. Stupid Malfoy. Gay git.

Fortunately for him, Harry ended the discussion and Draco slid gracefully from the table. 

__

And now,

Strangely, Ron noted (lost somewhere in his very stubborn mind), Draco's pale fingers reluctantly wandered off the table and his friend seemed to be shifting his torso towards Draco, almost involuntarily.

__

Faith, hope, and love abide,

The thought instantly dissipated as Harry turned towards him and smiled a goofy grin.

"Cho looks awfully nice today, don't you think?"

One wild cart ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Harry didn't know where to run first now that he had a bag full of money. He didn't have to know how many Galleons there were to a pound to know that he was holding more money than he'd had in his whole life-more money than even Dudley had ever had.

"Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

"Listen, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts."

He did still look a bit sick, so Harry entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when Harry started to speak. "Got the lot here-another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hello," said the boy. "Hogwarts, too?"

__

and the greatest of these is love

Notes

Line from The Bitch Song by Bowling for Soup. Line from Silver and Cold by AFI 


End file.
